


just like a stranger  |  just like I am

by dearygirl, openhearts



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:38:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2831804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearygirl/pseuds/dearygirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/openhearts/pseuds/openhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For aspaceformymuse for the Bethyl Secret Santa on Tumblr.</p><p>Dearygirl wrote at least one third of this, though neither of us could tell you exactly which third because we started ping ponging the beginning parts sometime soon after Alone aired and then I picked it back up and expanded it for this assignment at her suggestion and we have 90% the same brain anyway.</p><p>Canon divergence from Alone; Beth doesn't get kidnapped, she and Daryl meet up outside the house and keep on running.</p><p>Title from Introduction by Voxtrot</p>
            </blockquote>





	just like a stranger  |  just like I am

In the first three days after they leave the funeral home they don’t talk much.  

 

They run.  

 

Away from the train tracks, the sun at their backs.

 

Beth feels worn, ragged, her entire body useless, like the entire weight of the past few years is pressing in on her slowly like a vice, but they keep running.  It’s not until they stop, gasping for breath, lungs burning, legs shaking, in a clearing of trees where there’s a good three sixty degree sightline to spot anyone or anything on their tail, that Beth notices the leaves.

 

She drops to her knees, hands pressed to her thighs and her chin tucked down against her chest.  Each breath seems to fill her with an even deeper exhaustion that flows into her muscles like a liquid warmth and she couldn’t even summon the energy to raise her arms above her head if she wanted to.  Her eyes close and everything gets quieter, slower, until she jerks her head back up and blinks.  Daryl’s leaning sagged against a tree, his bow propped against his leg and he watches her with the same steady gaze she’s found herself trapped in ever since he found her.

 

She looks away.

 

The ground is covered in a thick layer of golden leaves, some tinged a fiery red.  They’ve been crunching under their boots all day as they’ve run through these woods, maybe even longer than that, maybe before, and it startles her because she can’t remember when she stopped noticing things like that, the changing of the seasons happening all around them.  She’s not even sure what month it is, if it matters anymore, if children like Judith will count the days the same way, looking forward to weekends and summer vacations - tomorrow even - with any amount of assurance.

 

There’s movement in her peripheral vision and Beth steadies herself, wiping her hands on her thighs and then rising back to her feet.  Daryl is slinging his crossbow back over his shoulder and she lets her eyes meet his again.

 

“Just a little further.”

 

She nods.

 

 

 

 

 

They stop again long after the sun’s gone down and the half-moon is rising above the tree line.  A crisp wind whispers through the woods around them but they don’t dare risk a fire and Beth shivers as she hunches in on herself on the cold ground under the poncho Daryl had draped over her before settling with his back against a tree.  He’s watching her through the darkness again; she can see the glint of moonlight in his pupils.

 

She wants to tell him to sleep, wonders when the last time he stopped and rested was, if it was back at the house the night they slept on the bed in one of the rooms upstairs in an unspoken decision not to be separated.  They had been careful not to touch each other then, Beth curled stiffly on her side while Daryl laid on his back, but she had felt his eyes on her then too, warming her in the same way.

 

Beth sits up, tugging the poncho from around her shoulders, scooting toward him and crawling onto his lap without preamble and settling with her cheek pressed to the cool leather of his vest against his chest.  He stiffens, holding his arms out slightly away from his body like he’s not sure where they’re supposed to go now, but Beth only rearranges the poncho to cover him too, then tips her head up so that it’s tucked under his chin.

 

He relaxes after a moment, draping one arm around her back with his hand resting at her hip. His lips brush just barely along her forehead.

 

Beth closes her eyes.

 

Before long she opens them again, body and mind racing with anticipation and energy even though she’s so tired her eyes feel coated with sand.  She shifts, and Daryl turns more steely beneath her, his body so rigid and tense that he’s barely breathing.  She sighs and tries to settle back down but she can’t, can’t quell the looming urge to feel him move beneath her.

 

She shifts slightly, and reaches one hand out to run down his arm to his wrist and then slide her fingers along his palm.  His fingers twitch and close around hers and it’s awkward but she likes the feel of their hands together.

 

She whispers his name and tips her head up, chin resting on his shoulder.  He “mm’s” questioningly and squeezes her fingers.  Beth lets her parted mouth brush his throat, up to the side of his chin and when he inhales she changes direction and places a row of barely-kisses along his jaw.  His fingers squeeze hers again, pressing her nails into his palm and she can feel the breath in his chest against hers caught like a sob.  She traces his pulse point with the tip of her nose before shifting on his lap and he swallows thickly.

 

“Can’t be doin’ this.”

 

“Doin’ what?”  Her lips drag lightly along his ear and he shifts away slightly.

 

“Beth.”

 

She’d heard him say her name maybe five times before they ran from the prison together, and suddenly now he says it in a thousand different colors and timbres and notes.

 

“Why.”  Her voice isn’t a whisper anymore, now a low broken demand.  She hadn’t been wrong about what she thought he’d meant to say as she wrote that thank you note back at the house.  She knows she hadn’t been wrong as a new awareness dawned over all his frequent casual touches and the warmth and weight of his gaze on her.

 

“Wouldn’t be right.”  He sounds utterly unconvinced himself, and that’s what makes her mad.

 

She sighs and sits back.  She’s straddling his lap, her hands now limp on his chest.  She lets her head fall backward and sighs, stares upwards at the inky black night and the flickering edges of leaves moving in the cold wind for a long beat.  He shifts just slightly under her, his hands still on her knees.

 

“Daryl,” she tilts her head slowly back toward him, rolling her neck languidly.  She knows he’s watching her.  “I don’t even know how old I am anymore.”

 

She looks at him again, head on.  His gaze slides away.  “I kept track for awhile, when we still had the farm?  But when we left, when it was just the group of us travelin’ I lost track.  Axel asked how old I was once.  I told him seventeen.  But I didn’t know if I still was.”

 

“Did he ever-”

 

“No,” she assures impatiently.  She flattens her hands on his chest and runs them up, reveling in the slide of her palms across his collarbones, curling her fingertips into the slight give of the strong muscles of his shoulders.  

 

“My birthday is June 16th.  And the last June 16th I remember, Mama said it was my golden birthday. Sixteen on the sixteenth.  She made me a cake with gold sugar sprinkles all over.”

 

Daryl huffs out something like a laugh, but it’s gentle.  Kind.

 

“I’m not sixteen anymore,” she says softly.  “I’m not anything.”

 

“Don’t say that.”

 

“You’re not either. When was your last birthday?”

 

“Last one I got a fuckin’ gold shiny cake?”

 

She laughs in spite of herself; the anger’s gone out of her, replaced with a tenderness so ready for what he’ll reveal - and she knows he will, knows he’ll tell her and it will be the truth and it will be something that likely no one else left in the world knows - that her chest aches before he even speaks.  

 

“Last one you knew was comin’,” she clarifies softly.  “Last one you remember somethin’ good happened that made it feel special.”

 

Daryl meets her gaze again and watches her for second.

 

“Fourteen.”

 

Her eyes flash with sadness, but it turns quickly with the curve of her mouth.

 

“Daryl Dixon,” she exclaims under her breath.  She smile on her face is conspiratorial, teasing.  She leans in slowly, reaching up to place her hands on either side of his jaw.  “I’m a cradlerobber.”

 

He smiles, impatient at her levity but un-moving.  His hands are heavy and tight on her legs.  She leans in the last few inches to catch his lips briefly with hers, parting to sit up and scoot just slightly closer.  He tilts his chin up the second time and meets her halfway, a soft fast brush that’s barely wet before he looks down.  His hands flex over her jeans.  When their eyes meet again there’s a wash of nervousness, shock, and anticipation over her face, and her next soft breath comes out in a mew of surprise when he rakes her closer with one arm hooked around her hips and buries the other hand in her hair, bringing her in fast for a third time.  Her slim fingers clasp around the back of his neck when he licks into her mouth and her grip is tight, clenched, like her knees bracketing his hips where the hilt of a knife digs annoyingly.

 

The dark holds them tight against their chosen tree trunk, the two of them curled together amongst the brush, traded whispers whisked away into the breeze.   

 

When she sleeps that night his arms are heavy and warm around her, his heart punching at the backs of his ribs against her cheek.

  
  
  
  
  


 

“Smells like rain.”

 

Beth slides a glance over at him, one of those looks on her face like she’s appraising him, surprised at what she finds.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothin.”  But she’s smiling like they’ve just shared a secret, some inside joke he knows nothing about.

 

“I said it smelled like rain,” he grumbles.  “Don’t look at me like I’m ‘bout to start composing some fuckin’ poem about the trees.”

 

She shakes her head, continuing on in front of him and Daryl watches her go, adjusts the bow strap across his chest and follows.

 

When the skies open up over their heads Beth laughs, holds her hands palm up in front of her.  “You were right.”

 

The heavy drops of rain fall cool on their skin, streaking through the layers of dirt and blood on their arms and faces.  Daryl tilts his chin up and shakes his hair back, opens his mouth to catch raindrops on his tongue and roll them back to his parched throat.

 

Beth stumbles forward, slipping over the slick grass as they start to run and Daryl reaches out for her, his hand curling around her upper arm to steady her.  

 

The rain falls heavier now, coming down in sheets, making it hard to see and soaking through each layer of their clothes to the skin.

 

“You want to let up for about five seconds?”  Daryl yells up at the sky.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s another shack surrounded by litter and half-overgrown by vines and weeds.  It’s perfect.  They do a quick sweep of the one room with a big storage closet and a bathroom, then cover the windows.  Beth is shivering, can feel the cold seeping under her skin to the bone and as Daryl secures the door, Beth drops her pack on the floor and starts to peel her shirt up and off over her head.  The air hits the bare damp skin of her stomach and she inhales on a shaky breath.

 

Daryl looks at her then looks away quickly.  “Fuck are you doing?”

 

“I’m freezin!  Besides, it’s nothing you can’t see anyway with my shirt all wet like this.”

 

She gets the shirt free of her ponytail and wrings it out, drapes it over a chair in the corner to dry.  When she looks up Daryl’s eyes are on her, his dark gaze meeting hers and then sliding quickly down her body to the simple white bra, pale slim torso, jeans hanging heavy and sodden on her hips, and away again.  He looks out the grimy window, glaring at the muddy single lane in a T intersection with a pot-hole-riddled road that points to the house’s barely-discernable driveway set into the treeline.

 

“Don’t get too comfortable.  Not secure here.”

 

“I’m not comfortable,” she grumbles as she pulls off her holster and then her belt.  She sees it when he gets a rush of chills and shivers jerkily, trying to hide it and failing.  Her sigh has a little bit of a laugh in it.

 

“You’re gonna get sick.”

 

She steps up to him and starts to push his vest off his shoulders but he wiggles away from her and bats her hands down.

 

“Stop that.”

 

Beth shakes her head slowly, her eyes almost chastising, and she moves her hands down to the buttons of his shirt, starting with the bottom one.  He makes a twitchy move away from her, droplets of water flying from the ends of his hair, but doesn’t brush her away this time.  Just watches her fingers as they carefully and methodically slip each button loose.  

 

“This place is as secure as it’s gonna get.  We haven’t seen sign of another person for days now.”

 

“Doesn’t mean-”

 

“Come sleep with me.”

 

His face pales at the same time his eyes flicker dark like graphite and Beth smiles softly, breathing out a little laugh at herself.

 

“I mean come lay down so we can get warm.”

 

Daryl barely raises an eyebrow and Beth rolls her eyes, done with the buttons and slipping her hands against his chest.  

 

“You know what I mean.  Come on.”  

 

She tugs at his hips, a flashing shock of heat through her belly when he lets her pull him along, steps matching hers carefully as she walks backwards across the small space to the bed.  The backs of her knees brush the old musty quilt and she kicks off her boots before she lets go of Daryl to undo her jeans with shaking fingers.

 

She leans to one side to peel the jeans down her legs and when she stands to step out of them Daryl lets out a breathy grunt that sounds like abandon and then he’s kissing her, mouth hot and dry against her lips, fingers digging into the flesh of her hips.  She’s more than a little shocked, still shivering at the cold air all along her back, and Daryl’s sudden movement sends her toppling back to the bed and pulling him with her.  Part of her thinks it’ll stop them, she’ll laugh and he’ll pull away, but he crawls over her and she finds herself scrambling back along with him, desperately trying to keep her mouth on his as they move.  

 

She’s barely used to kissing him and his rough fingers are already twisting at the stretched out elastic of her underwear, and her belly aches deep and low.  She has a fleeting thought that she’s not ready, not ready for this, now, with him, but she knew what she meant when she’d put her hands on his bare skin.  She knew what was about to happen even though saying it seemed dangerous, like the breath it would take to speak the words aloud would extinguish the small flame now blazing, covering her skin everywhere his hands and chest are touching.

 

She’d gotten used to pulling him along with words or actions, dragging the anchor of him with her and now, now his hips are spreading her thighs, his mouth is open to hers, the whole of him is pressing her down on this rickety bed with the rain pounding the other side of the wall, and when she tries to voice it, it comes out as just his name - _Daryl_ \- as wanting as her fingernails on the skin of his back once she’s pushed off his shirt and vest in one.  

 

He shrugs her hands off his upper back and she lets him, lets them both ignore the thick slashes there and slips her fingertips under the waistband of his pants at his lower back where the muscles dance under his skin with every rut of his hips against her.  He’s still plucking at her underwear, almost nervously tugging on it so his fingertips keep brushing underneath until she whines and jerks her hips at his hand, and then he’s pulling her underwear roughly down her legs.

 

When he sinks into her her eyes fly open, mouth caught parted around a breath, her knees gripped at his ribs, and he buries his face in her shoulder so she barely hears his lost weak voice, “Fuck.  Fuck, _Beth_.”

 

“Yes,” she murmurs at his ear, groaning when he moves, already as close to coming as she’s been since they got blankets to cover their cell doors at the prison.  He’s rough and slow, drawing out far so she can feel the head of his cock at her entrance every time.  “Yes, yes,” she whimpers, and it spurs him on, makes him thrust in deep and fast and she gasps and digs her nails into his skin.  

 

She wants to keep talking, wants to take some control of every fleeting thought falling through her head and shape it into something she might remember but she bucks her hips up with his next thrust and then she’s coming, slow and long, and biting into his shoulder.  His skin is salty and grimy, tugging through her teeth when he jolts back at the pain.  She squeezes her eyes shut and tips her head back as her orgasm blooms out from her middle, vaguely aware of him swearing, pouring out profanities with his mouth at her throat and his eyelashes wet against her jaw.  He fucks her hard through the end of it and she’s just twitching with aftershocks when he comes.

 

He rolls just enough to the side that he’s not entirely on top of her when he collapses to the bed.  Daryl is warm and they’re both slick with rain and sweat and her thighs are wet with come and he’s limp beside her, heaving each breath out like he’s just been pulled up from drowning.  

 

Their skin pebbles up with goosebumps as they lay breathing quietly, and Beth reaches an arm out from their tangle of limbs to tug the quilt over them both as best she can.  She doesn’t know what to say when his eyes slit open and meet hers so she just crawls under his arm again and tucks her nose and mouth against his collarbone.

 

“We didn’t sleep,” he mumbles, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.  

 

“I’m warmer,” she shrugs.  She smiles to herself at his “tsk” of a laugh.  She tucks a hand against his chest between them and curls her toes in the sheets, wriggling a little just to feel the friction of the blanket against her bare skin.

 

“‘S January sixth,” he says suddenly.  

 

She’s confused for a moment, then she smiles.  “Happy birthday.”

 

“You don’t know what day it is,” he mutters, rolling to his back away from her and stretching deeply with his arms over his head.

 

“You don’t know what day it isn’t,” Beth counters.  

 

He watches her for a moment, glancing into her eyes and then away as he sits up and grabs his shirt to shrug back into it.  Beth tugs the blanket up and lays there on her side, listening to the rain.

_____

 


End file.
